by Karen Wood
Suddenly he wheeled and rushed at Luke again, coming closer this time. Luke took his warning. He retreated slowly down the other side of the hill, checking behind him as he went, until he was some distance away; then he ran, sending little avalanches of rocks tumbling about his ankles as he went.
He went back to the river and sat against a tree, watching the top of the hill, knowing that the stallion would come checking again soon. The image of the horses crowded his mind. It was almost as if they were paying their respects.
‘It was like a funeral or something,’ he said to Bob. ‘They were grieving.’
‘Yeah, they’re different in the wild,’ Bob said. ‘Around the homesteads, we bury dead horses quick as we can. They never get a chance to grieve like that.’
Luke thought of the stallion: his gentleness as he nuzzled the colt and led it to the centre of the mares. He thought of Biyanga, pacing about in his stable at home.
He would kill a foal if he got near one. He wouldn’t even know if it was his.
That afternoon, while the other men fished, Luke walked back to the top of the hill. The mob was still there, surrounding the dead mare. They left only to drink at the creek, a few at a time, and then resumed their vigil over the body. It was the most incredible thing he had ever witnessed. If only he could ring Jess and tell her about it. She could spend a whole century sitting under trees and watching horses around here.
Before long, Tyson joined him. The man puffed as he climbed up the rocky hillside. ‘What are you doin’ all the way up here?’ he said, reaching the top and grabbing hold of a small tree to steady himself while he got his breath back. ‘Tryin’ to kill me?’
‘Watching the brumbies,’ smiled Luke.
‘Coming for another walk? Got more to show you.’ Tyson pulled a comical face. ‘Soon as those ancestors send some air my way.’
‘You wanna cut down on the muesli bars, mate.’
‘I’m waiting for you to catch a barra so I can,’ said Tyson. He let go of the tree and set off across the top of the ridge. ‘Coming?’
Luke took a last glance at the brumbies and followed him.
Tyson went over the belly power again and then showed Luke how to bring that heat back into his hands, and how to hold them in front, palms out, sending ripples of energy shooting through his fingers in crooked waves out into the land.
Luke learned how to bring all that power, the heat from his hands, the tingling from his feet, the tightness from his belly, and send it blazing up into his eyes.
At one point a low menacing wolf-like growl escaped involuntarily from his throat, making Tyson step back and look at him with mild alarm. ‘Geez, bro, you’re scarin’ me!’
Luke shook slightly and laughed, a little nervously. ‘Whoa. Where did that come from?’
‘If you can put those eyes on whenever you want, you’ll probably never have to fight again,’ said Tyson. ‘And if somebody does hit you and your feet are planted, you won’t fall.’
Luke remembered the other day, when he had slashed Tyson with the knife. It had been like striking a stone. Tyson hadn’t moved. ‘Can we walk some more?’ he asked.
‘Sure,’ said Tyson, ‘But when you walk, keep your belly power strong. Don’t walk like a loser anymore.’
As they continued, Tyson told him how to connect through his head. ‘Last thing is the sky,’ he said, standing on top of the mountain with the wind swirling through his untameable hair. ‘You can connect that way too, from your head, feel that power come up from feet, let it go straight up to the sky, like you’re just hanging there on a string.’ He raised his chin and held out his arms. You don’t even have to be walking to connect with the earth. You can be on a motorbike or a horse.’
Luke held out his arms and joined him.
‘That’s it,’ said Tyson. ‘Your head is like your feet for the sky.’
‘My mother is in the sky,’ said Luke. ‘That’s what everyone told me when she died.’
She seemed so far away, so long ago. But he liked that he could imagine her arms around him, like the two of them were on the back of that horse again, like in the photo. He could just close his eyes and feel protected. ‘I do have ancestors.’
‘You got old ones,’ Tyson assured him. ‘But it’s your choice to make. Connect or disconnect. Be something, be nothing. Be somewhere, be nowhere. Up to you. Keep your belly power solid, listen for them, watch for messages, and your old people will come for you, put you on the right track.’
14
THE NEXT DAY, Luke jogged across the wide open country to the hills again. Once on the other side, he followed the brumbies into flatter country, where the soil was brownish-grey and grass grew under a low open forest.
The brumbies knew he was there.
One small brown mare, heavy with foal, seemed to be the leader. She stayed in the centre of the mob and another seven or so circled her, protecting her at all times. Luke wondered why they all followed her. There was nothing powerful or impressive about her. She didn’t blow her nostrils or stamp her feet; she didn’t bite or kick or charge at the others. She just calmly ate and when she moved on, the others moved on with her.
When Luke made too much noise, she was the first to startle and lead the others to a safer place. Late in the afternoon, she took them to water to drink, and she led them to higher ground when the sun began to sink behind the hills and it grew cold. Even the big red stallion seemed to follow her.
The stallion, he noticed, always stayed at the rear of the group, protecting them, pushing forward any stragglers or frail ones. He was so different from Biyanga at home. The young foals all seemed eager to be around him, stretching out their necks and snapping their gums. He was gentle and playful with them.
Rusty seemed to go from mare to mare, each of whom took turns looking after him. When he slept, stretched out with his eyes closed, absorbing the sun, the mares would keep their ears tuned in his direction.
He had friends his own age, too. The other foals would canter up and invite him to play, then gallop about on the outskirts of the herd, bucking and frolicking. They would rear up and paddle their legs, or nip at each others’ flanks as they trotted past.
Luke couldn’t get enough of their antics. He jogged over to the hills every day and followed them vast distances along the creeks and into the forests.
It was on the third day of watching them, around midday, that he felt a hand on his shoulder. Bob crouched down next to him.
‘Check out the brown mare,’ said Luke, pointing to her. ‘She’s the boss. Wouldn’t pick it, would you?’
‘Yeah, it’s all about the knowledge. They know who the clever one is,’ said Bob. ‘Same way my mob. Youngsters know who to follow and watch and learn from.’
‘They follow her everywhere,’ Luke marvelled. ‘I can’t work out why.’
‘They use a lot of body language. See that colt over there?’ asked Bob, pointing to a young chocolate horse grazing on the outskirts of the mob. ‘He’s in big trouble with ’em. Don’t know what he did wrong, but that mare’s not happy with him. See how she keeps her back to him?’
Luke looked at her; sure enough, her back was to the colt. She shifted every time he tried to approach. ‘He plays too rough. The little ones are scared of him.’
‘He’ll have to go away and learn what he did wrong before she’s gonna let him back in,’ said Bob.
‘I can’t work out which foal belongs to what mare,’ said Luke. ‘They all seem to look after each other.’
Bob nodded. ‘The aunties look after the young ones so their mum can have a break – she’ll go and graze some better pasture on her own, or have a lay-down. Everyone in the mob helps to raise the young one, keep it safe, teach it how to sense danger. Growing up is not just about getting the mother’s milk. The young ones gotta learn how to be part of the group.’
Luke got the distinct feeling Bob was trying to tell him something. ‘Same way your mob?’
Bob nodded. ‘The longer yo
u stay with your mob, the better protected you are. Young ones can’t predict danger like the old ones can.’ He looked pointedly at Luke.‘You stay with your brothers until you’re ready. They’ll guide you and protect you.’
‘Yeah, well, that’d be good if I had any brothers,’ said Luke.
‘You got brothers back home, Luke.’ Bob frowned at him. ‘You should send Lawson a message, let him know you’re all right. Your family got enough sorry business right now, losing the old one like that. Sometimes it’s good to go off and learn with your cousins and your uncles, but then you go back, Luke. They’re your family.’
A dozen faces flashed through Luke’s mind. Harry, Annie, Lawson, Ryan, all his friends. ‘I’m not blood with them, Bob. I don’t know if they even want me there.’
‘Luke,’ Bob said gently, ‘blood family’s not the only kind of family you can have. Our way, we got all sorts of kinship: skin names, totems. They map out where you fit in life and how you relate to everyone else.’
‘We’re all connected through the horses,’ said Luke. He smiled suddenly. ‘Same way my mob!’
Bob grinned and nodded. ‘Same way your mob!’
Bob pointed to a small bay filly. ‘You see that young filly there? The day she comes in season, that old red stallion will kick her out. Out over the hills there, there’ll be a mob of bachelor colts ready to take her in. One of them will take her for himself.’
He waggled a finger at Luke and grinned. ‘But not until she’s come of age, or until her father says so – you got that bit too?’
Luke screwed up his nose.
‘Why d’you look like that?’ laughed Bob. ‘You got a girl back home?’
Luke looked away. ‘Nah.’
Bob raised his eyebrows.
‘She’s just a good friend, that’s all.’
Bob stood up and slapped Luke on the shoulder. ‘Let’s go back to camp. Show you how to catch a fish!’
That evening, Luke held the reel in his left hand the way Bob had shown him. With his other hand, he twirled the hook and sinkers around his head and flung it out to the river. It snapped back at him, narrowly missing Tex’s face and snagging in the tree behind him.
‘Hey!’ said Tex in alarm, reeling backwards. ‘You’re holding it wrong. Turn it out the other way so the line can come off.’
‘Sorry.’ Luke pulled at the line, trying to yank the hook out of the tree. He was determined to catch a fish. He had to. Tyson had eaten every other morsel of food in the camp. The options were either to catch a fish or eat dry noodles.
‘Snagged again,’ Tex grumbled, tugging at the line from every direction. It snapped and a thread of fishing line hung from the end of Luke’s reel like a broken spider web. ‘I reckon there’s an old stump down there that looks like a Christmas tree with all my lures on it.’
Luke laid his reel on the bank of the river, then pulled off his shirt. ‘I’m going in.’
Tyson walked past with an assortment of reels and tackle in one hand. ‘You got those feet connected, boy?’ he enquired, before swinging his fist into Luke’s belly.
Luke managed to brace himself, but had nowhere near the connection he’d had the other day. He got his breath back and stood straight again.
‘Yep,’ he wheezed.
Tyson walked on along the riverbank. ‘Big old barra, here I come,’ he said in a sing-song voice.
‘I’m headed north tomorrow, Luke,’ said Bob, squatting next to him. ‘Where you headed? You want me to drop you back in Isa?’
‘What are Tyson and Tex doing?’ Luke asked, hoping they would be staying on the river a while longer. He wanted to keep watching the brumbies, especially Rusty.
‘They’ve both got families and jobs they gotta get back to,’ said Bob. ‘I’ll be mustering up there all week for a local campdraft. I could ask the boss if he’s got any more work.’
Luke thought about it. He had hardly any money and he was getting sick of sleeping on the ground. Clean clothes would be good, too. He’d been living in the old shorts Bob had given him and not much else. His jeans were beyond redemption. But he wanted to watch the brumbies some more.
‘When’s the draft?’
‘Next weekend,’ said Bob.
‘Can I meet you there?’ One more week without money or clothes wouldn’t hurt . . .
Bob shrugged. ‘Yeah. Tyson’s driving to the shop. I’ll get him to pick up some tucker for you, hey.’ He looked at the reel in Luke’s hand. ‘You might get a bit hungry otherwise.’
‘Hey, reckon you could get me a ride at that draft?’ asked Luke. It was one way to get money – win it.
Bob pulled a maybe face. ‘See what I can do.’
15
THE NEXT MORNING, Luke rushed to the edge of the clearing where Tyson was stepping into the big twin cab. ‘Tyson, wait up!’
Tyson held out his hand and shook Luke’s urban style again. ‘You keep your belly power strong, ay,’ he said, ‘and when you go near them horses, it’ll tell you if it’s a good one or a bad one. If you feel it pulling, follow it. You still connected?’
Luke grinned and nodded, knowing what was coming next.
Tyson swung a fist into his belly and, as Luke twisted to deflect it, it connected heavily with his ribs. He staggered backwards. ‘Oh, geez.’ He sank to the ground, clutching his ribs.
Tyson looked puzzled. ‘Where were your feet, boy?’
‘Ohhh,’ Luke moaned. ‘I think you broke something.’
Tex pulled himself across the bench seat of the twin cab and peered out the open window. ‘Bloody ’ell, Tyson,’ he grumbled. ‘Whatcha done to the little fulla now?’
Luke writhed on the ground. Tyson squatted next to him. ‘I didn’t think I got you that bad.’
Tex got out of the ute. ‘Let me have a look,’ he said, prising Luke’s hands from his chest and lifting his shirt.
Luke opened one eye. ‘Is it bad?’ he croaked.
A wave of seriousness washed over the men as they looked over his ribs. Tex looked perplexed. ‘Can’t tell,’ he said. ‘How many lumps you have before?’
Luke let out a painful wheeze. ‘Just three,’ he lied.
Tex, with a look of intense concentration, poked at the various lumps and counted. ‘You got more than that ’ere, now.’ His face turned thunderous and he swore as he slapped Tyson hard across the back of the head. ‘Go ring the flying doctors, now,’ he ordered. ‘You probably punctured his lung!’
Luke rolled away from Tyson. He couldn’t keep a straight face for much longer.
‘Can you breathe okay?’ asked Tyson.
‘Just find a phone,’ snapped Tex.
Luke nearly choked as a laugh escaped him. He tried to mask it as cries of agony. He caught a glimpse of Tyson’s frowning face and couldn’t help chuckling loudly. His ribs had never been so funny before. ‘Gotcha,’ he squeaked.
‘You cheeky little . . .’
Behind Tyson, Tex hissed and chugged so hard he sounded as though he would split at the seams. Bob leaned against his ute, one hand over his mouth, trying to hide a smirk. But his welling eyes gave him away.
Tyson walked back to the twin-cab. He yanked the back door open, pulled out his swag and threw it on top of Luke, following it with a bag of instant oats. ‘Here, have some more horse food,’ he said, lobbing them at Luke’s head.
Luke ducked under the swag and deflected the oats. When he looked out the other side, Tyson was stepping into the driver’s seat.
The wild-haired man grinned and started the engine. ‘The best teachers learn from their students, ay. You got me a good one.’ He ran a hand gingerly over his left shoulder. ‘You got me a couple of good ones. I won’t forget.’
‘Thanks, Tyson,’ Luke said. ‘You got me some good ones too.’
‘Listen to your belly.’ Tyson winked as he put the ute in gear. ‘It’ll keep you safe.’
Tex leaned across Tyson. ‘Don’t go too far from the river.’
The car rolled away over the
bumpy earth and across the causeway.
Bob kicked dirt over the last coals of the fire and threw his swag in the back of his ute. ‘So, I’ll see you at the draft. Plenty of trucks’ll be headed up there. You just hitch a ride, ay?’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Luke, nodding.
‘If you get in any trouble, there’s an Aboriginal settlement about a half day’s walk up the river,’ said Bob. ‘It’s on the way to the draft. Just follow the green suitcases. And tell ’em I sent you.’
‘Okay,’ said Luke, wondering what on earth green suitcases could be.
Bob looked him over again. ‘I might stop out if I get time, ay? See if you caught a barra yet.’
‘Better bring some hot chips,’ said Luke.
The following day was still new and untouched, with only a few birds beginning to twitter, when Luke threw on his backpack and set off towards the hills again. His first night alone at the remote river crossing had been long and sleepless, a mix of anxiety tempered by the excitement of seeing the brumbies again. All night he had thought about them and the way they looked after each other and fought and bickered, just like a real family. He could think of nothing but seeing Rusty again. It was as though he had lost the controls; someone or something else was driving him.
He found the mob in a small valley. The mares were lying down with their foals while the stallion and the older colts grazed quietly around them. The chocolate one, he noticed, still grazed on the outer.
Luke scanned the clearing, looking for the little red colt. Several of the mares turned their ears towards him. One stood up. The others kept grazing as though they knew he was there, but perceived no threat.
He soaked in the sounds of the valley: the soft contented snort of a sleepy horse, the swish of a tail. He studied the horses intently, watching the tiny signals they sent each other. The slight turning of one mare’s head away from another established her place in the ranking system; a turn of a colt’s ear showed that he was checking the boundaries for signs of danger; the lift of one mare’s chin told another mare’s foal to stay away.